Feral: Book One Read Online Free Page B

received several texts before the weekend was through, and to my horror, I received one while I was in the shower early Monday morning. I was getting more and more, my silence not putting Cole off in the slightest it seemed. “Honestly,” I mumbled to myself, “take a hint.” I dropped the phone back onto the marble counter top, then quickly blew my hair dry before pulling it up into a messy bun and applying tinted moisturizer and some lip gloss.
    I stared into the depths of my closet trying to decide what to wear, before giving up in frustration and selecting a billowy toffee-colored top. With its splashes of chestnut, terra cotta and wine, it would hopefully compliment my eyes. I threw on a pair of white shorts – a concession to the Southern summer heat – and checked myself out in the mirror.
    Deciding I looked as good as I was possibly going to, I grabbed my keys and dragged my rolling bag with me down the hall to snatch a cereal bar from the counter. “I’ll see you later tonight,” I called back to my father before striding out the door to my old, blue Focus.
    I should’ve realized by the no-longer-random texts from Cole during my morning routine that my day was going to turn out to be one giant mess.
    After calculating I had enough time to swing through Starbucks and get an iced caffè
    mocha, I ended up stomping on my brakes to let a cat finish crossing the road—what could I say? I was an animal lover—and the icy drink splashed from its open top onto the side of my thigh, making me flinch at the sudden chill and the quickly setting stain on the hem of my shorts. I grabbed for some napkins I’d shoved in the console.
    Maybe it was what I deserved for taking the lid off to suck out the whipped cream out in the first place. If that wasn’t bad enough, I got stuck behind the slowest train in America and a three-car wreck.
    I was going to be late, and the colorful expletives pouring from my mouth seemed to be the only relief I had available from my current situation, especially since I had Bahr. I’d heard rumors that he was a pretty big hard-ass, and even though it was the first day of class, usually a time when most instructors just went over their syllabi and expectations, I had a feeling he wouldn’t be thrilled to see a student coming in even a few minutes late, much less ten or fifteen.
    Thankfully, when I rushed, I found the room devoid of anyone who looked like they might be in charge of the growing congregation. On the downside, there was Madison, front and center, ready to take notes and kiss ass as best she could.
    I groaned internally and trudged to a seat somewhere in the middle of the classroom, not too close as to appear an overachiever like Mads, but not too far away as to look like I just didn’t care about the class. In my personal experience, I had learned that even teachers would often make presumptions based on a student’s choice of seat, and I tried to remain in a neutral area.
    As I sat and listened, I realized that something had gone wrong.
    From the way most people were talking, it sounded like something happened to Bahr and they were having trouble finding a last minute replacement for the anatomy and biology instructor. After a good half hour, people were beginning to get anxious and some students were preparing to leave.
    I myself was pondering a drive to the nearest IHOP, where I could settle down with a large stack of strawberry pancakes, a plate full of sausage, and my medical terminology text, when a familiar head of hair and amethyst eyes practically floated into the room.
    This time he was dressed in slacks so dark it was almost impossible to distinguish their color—I guessed they were some shade of blue. His shirt was an off-white and he wore a suit jacket in the deepest shade of seal-brown. He lacked a tie, and just like the last time I had laid eyes on him, the top buttons of his shirt were undone and his espresso-colored hair was brushed back away from his